


Salvation

by KiraHeartilly



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batman appears at the end, Not Action Heavy, OC Focused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26594557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraHeartilly/pseuds/KiraHeartilly
Summary: To save a dying family member, a man will do whatever it takes.
Kudos: 3





	Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Illness  
> Some mild Boogiepop influence.  
> I am not super into Batman, I liked some of the cartoons and movies. I haven't read much fanfic for this fandom, so I don't know how common or not this sort of ending is.

John Cartwell loved his wife. Ask any of their friends and they’d say it’s true. It could only be described as love at first sight. Cartwell was captain of the chess team and president of the science club at Gotham Academy. Miranda Hart was captain of the basketball team. They met at a basketball game when Cartwell drove one of his friends. He loved her cheerful confident personality and she loved his nerdy looks and freckles.

Miranda made the first move, asking Cartwell on a date to the movies the next weekend. Things went splendidly and they stayed out late, talking all night as they watched the stars above. Miranda wasn’t one to normally enjoy the beauty of nature, but listening to Cartwell talk, she sank into the sound of his voice.

They became inseparable, meeting between classes to share letters they had written when they should have been note taking. They kissed when no one was looking. Cartwell helped Miranda study whenever she needed to ace a test. She’d help him with his essays, checking for ease of readability.

They got married straight out of college and he got a job soon after, working for some up and coming tech company. Not nearly as big WayneTech or LexCorp, but enough to provide a decent salary. He spent hours working hard and showered his wife with gifts. Trips to the spa after long hours coaching rowdy teenagers. A new car when her old one broke down. Or even a simple bouquet of flowers to say “I love you.” (She loved Alstroemeria.)

That’s why this was so difficult. Sitting in the doctor’s room, shivering from the cold and the anxiety, waiting for hours for news as they ran tests. The dread that filled his heart when he saw the doctor emerge, face locked in a frown. Oh how his stomach dropped when he heard those words. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look good.”

His wife broke down crying in his arms. Her father was dying and she was terrified.

“This disease is unbelievably rare, there isn’t much we can do to save him. All we can offer is to help make the last few months of his life as comfortable as possible.”

“Please,” Miranda asked through sobs, her voice cracking. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“There is a new experimental treatment. But I’m afraid insurance won’t cover it.”

“How much?” Cartwell asked. As it turned out, too much for them to afford.

Weeks passed.

“Please, Miranda,” Cartwell begged. “You need to eat.” It pained him to see her like this. Grief stricken and struggling to function. She quit her job as a coach and spent all day at home. Cartwell didn’t mind his wife’s need to grieve, but it hurt to see her hurt.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not hungry,” she told him.

That’s when he knew he had to do something.

The next day, he called all her friends on the phone. “Miranda hasn’t been taking the news very well. I have to put in some extra hours at work, could you please check on her when you have time?” He felt bad for the lie, but he needed the time for his plotting and scheming.

Confident she’d be taken care of, he began his task.

The company he worked for made very advanced technology. The kind ordinary citizens could never get their hands on. The first item on his list? Hoverboots.

_“With these, firefighters can fly straight up to the second, third, or even the twentieth floor of a burning building! It will save time and lives!”_

The theft was simple. Take a working pair and write them off as malfunctioning. Pretend to take them to recycling and smuggle them home. His heart pounded when he carried them out the front door, hiding them underneath his coat. But nobody paid enough attention.

They were solar powered, using magnets and large amounts of energy to create lift and thrust. He left them in the garage during the day. Miranda never went in there and there was a window that let in enough sunlight to charge the boots.

At night, once Miranda fell asleep, he began training. He made sure to avoid being seen and did his best to keep quiet, though it could be hard when he kept crashing. But he needed to be able to maneuver in these. To dodge and to escape and to fly in for an attack.

Once, he wasn’t paying attention and allowed the boots to drain. Luckily he caught a tree branch on the way down.

Still, practice made perfect and soon he got the hang of it.

Next up, some body armor. Kevlar to stop police bullets. Not that difficult to acquire, he could buy it online. He just needed to hide the expenses from his wife, and made sure to send the order to a PO Box so she wouldn’t see. Though it stung him to hide things from her, the last thing he wanted was to worry Miranda.

Especially since Miranda wasn’t doing well at this point. During the day she was practically a zombie, stumbling about wordlessly. At night she had trouble sleeping. She’d toss and turn and wake up drenched in sweat. Cartwell thought some quality time with her father might help. He bought Mr. Hart’s favorite movies and a portable DVD player, they could watch some happy films together.

Mr. Hart could not stay awake for long.

Gritting his teeth, he knew he had to step up his game. He needed weapons next, but wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t have anything nearly as fancy or unique as Mr. Freeze’s ice gun, or Firefly’s flamethrower. His company was working on a powerful tool, a laser sword of sorts meant to help rescue teams cut through tough metal, but something like that would be tougher to steal. They were far more dangerous and kept under much tighter security. After all, this wasn’t the kind of thing they wanted in the wrong hands.

This would all be for nothing if he was caught.

But no, he’d been prepared to take risks when this all started. The question now, was how? He couldn’t simply write this off as damaged or broken. They’d check for sure. And they’d want to dispose of it properly, with proof. If he stole this, they’d notice for sure and launch an investigation.

Instead, he stole the blueprints and began recreating one at home, from scrap parts that he _could_ manage to steal. It took him a while, but after a few weeks he finished. At first he had to stay up incredibly late, working hard not to get caught by Miranda’s late night passing. But after a week of this, she found herself resting more peacefully.

“I think I’m ready to return to work,” she told him.

“I don’t want to rush you. The grieving process takes time. But I also don’t want to hold you back from your recovery. If this is what you feel is best, I’ll support you.” She got a new job working as a Gym Teacher at another High School. The pay wasn’t as good, but it didn’t matter. They had enough for most of their needs and wants anyway.

He took her out for sushi to celebrate and invited all her friends. It was as much a commemoration of her new job as it was of her step toward recovery. They had some wine, except for the designated drivers, and Miranda made a toast to her husband. “For working hard to support me.”

He got a few more items as backup, some stuff he bought on the black market. Police Tasers, (they apparently had a longer reach than civilian Tasers), a stun gun, and some smoke bombs for cover. He stored it all in his garage, preparing for the big day.

He had a day off soon, while his wife was at work. He’d don a simple mask and break into the bank. Demand the money, lay low for a bit, then pay for his father-in-law’s treatment. He wasn’t sure how he could do that with stolen cash, but he had a few ideas, risky as they were.

He still hadn’t thought of a name. Did he even need one? This was a simple robbery, nothing too big in the grand scheme of things. Some relative anonymity might be good for him. Maybe the police would be too busy with the big criminals, like the Joker or Riddler.

So on that day he woke up and took a deep breath. His wife had already left for work. Normally she’d wake him and say good-bye, but today she’d written a note on the nightstand. _You’ve been working so hard lately, I didn’t want to wake you. Hope you got to enjoy sleeping in. Lots of love!_

A tear rolled down his cheek as he thought about all the ways things could go wrong,

Of course, there was one more thing he should have factored into consideration.

The Batman, waiting for him in the garage. As soon as he stepped in, the legendary crime fighter emerged from the shadows, a scowl on his face. “You thought you’d covered your tracks but you were wrong. I saw you while I was patrolling the other night, tracked those boots back to the company you worked for. Once I saw the surveillance footage it was easy to figure out your intentions were more dangerous than a leisurely joy ride.”

Cartwell’s phone buzzed. “You should answer that,” said Batman.

Nodding, Cartwell put the phone against his ear. His wife’s joyous voice rang out clear. “It’s amazing, Johnny. You’ll never believe what happened. Bruce Wayne heard about my dad’s situation and he’s paying for my dad’s treatment. It won’t cost us a thing. And he’s helping to fund more research.”

“I- I’m speechless,” he told his wife. “That’s great news.” Tears rolled down his face.

“I’ll trust you to do the right thing,” said Batman. Cartwell turned to face him, but he was gone.

His father-in-law went on to make a full recovery.

**Author's Note:**

> I did try to proof read this myself, but I do tend to miss stuff. Let me know if you find anything. I'll probably fix it when I am not lazy.


End file.
